


Stay With Me Tonight

by DippedInHoney



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Neil Hargrove, Bi-Sexual Steve Harrington, Billy And Robin Are Friends And Steve is Confused, Billy Is A Delicate Flower And Steve Wants to Protect Him, But Not Really Because I Can't Write It, But also plot, Canon Divergence - Series 03, Child Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gay Billy Hargrove, Homophobic Language, I Lost Track of My Tags, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, My Babies Will Get Their Happy Ending, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 02, Robin is a good bro, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Steve and Billy Fuck Like Rabbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2020-06-22 10:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19665574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DippedInHoney/pseuds/DippedInHoney
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3Billy told Steve he'd end up hurting him again eventually, but Steve didn't listen. Neither of them expected it would have happened like this.





	1. Fuck Off (I Love You)

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write a lot of Harringrove smut and give us the Season 3 plot we really wanted. This is totally not canon with the exception of a few stolen scenes from the newest season. I don't know how long this will be yet.

**Date Unknown**

“So, you and Steve?” Hopper says, more than he really asks, as he and Billy search another random kitchen for food, “Didn’t really think he’d be your type.” 

Billy doesn’t know why he and Hopper were the only ones to end up here. The last thing he remembers is thousands of teeth piercing into his hands and throwing himself against that _thing_ as they both fell through the gate. He doesn’t know why _it_ burned into ash and _he_ survived, or why this place looked like Hawkins with a monochrome filter, but at least he wasn’t stuck here alone. Hopper says they call it the _Upside Down —_ the home of the _Mind Flayer_ — the place where Billy was taken to when it possessed him. Billy still refuses to use the _stupid_ fuckingnames those nerds came up with. He also refuses to admit that maybe he’s too afraid to put a name to the face in fear that it will come back, but he’s not about to tell anyone he’s scared because he’s _Billy fucking Hargrove._

So, the _monsters_ were gone, thanks to El and Joyce, but that meant Billy was now stuck in this even more shit-hole version of Hawkins with a fucking _cop_ asking him questions about his relationship with _Steve Harrington._

“Why the fuck do you care?" Billy still gets defensive talking about it. He hasn't been on the receiving end of many accepting people throughout his life, and he's certain the people here are much less forgiving than in California. 

Hopper is looking at him with a frown. The authority the man exudes would remind Billy of his father, except there’s a softness in the chief’s eyes that he isn’t used to. It makes him uncomfortable, to be looked at with care, so he averts his eyes back to the cabinet with some cans of food he’d been sorting through. Billy feels a sharp pain in his chest. _Steve_ cared about him. 

When he was alive in the _real_ Hawkins, he still couldn’t handle the way Steve looked at him sometimes, like he was _everything._ Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever understand what he did to deserve to be loved that deeply. Billy _misses_ him. He feels it ache in his bones and in the way his chest seems to tighten when thoughts of Steve consume him. If Billy could see him again, he’d look back into Steve’s eyes for as long as the other boy would let him; but he won’t have the chance to anymore.

_Oh fuck._

Billy’s breath hitches and a wave of panic rushes over him as he’s finally hit with reality. He is _never_ going to see Steve again. 

“Kid,” Hopper’s voice barely reaches him, and he doesn't even register the heavy weight of a hand on his shoulder, “You alright?” 

Billy fights back tears, he _cannot_ be weak. His father always said _he didn’t raise a pussy for a son_ , and Billy sure as hell wouldn’t be one now — but he can practically hear Steve in his head now. Every time his father brought him down, then Steve would bring him back up. 

_I love you, Billy Hargrove._

Steve’s voice echoes in his head. Memories of that night flashing before his eyes, of clinging to one another in the darkness of Steve’s room as they made love for the first time, and _fuck_ his heart _hurts_. He doesn’t remember falling to the floor, but the tile is cool against his face, and he thinks he screams before everything turns black.

  


**May 6, 1985**

“Are you ever going to tell me who keeps doing this to you?” Steve asks softly.

“I don’t know why you keep asking, princess. I think you already know.” 

Billy is sitting on Steve’s fancy bathroom counter, the kind with two sinks, _and who even needs two sinks for one person_? Shit like that is the reason why Billy doesn’t understand rich people. He hisses as Steve wipes the cut above his left eyebrow with some disinfectant. He thinks he got that particular injury from when he was thrown across his bedroom, head slamming into the edge of his bookshelf, the vision in his left eye blurred by red. His right side aches too. Neil got a good kick in when Billy was on the floor, and he knows his lip must be split because he can taste the familiar sharpness of iron. 

He’d been coming to Steve's house since New Years Eve. Steve had just happened to drive by and see Billy walking on the side of the road in the snow, drunk and bloody-faced, freezing in only his signature leather jacket, too tight jeans, and boots. Billy told him to fuck off when Steve asked him to get in the car, before promptly passing out in the snow. When he woke up he was warm under a thick blanket, in a room that was definitely not his, with Steve _fucking_ Harrington sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at him. Steve asked Billy what happened, so he told him to fuck off. Steve asked if he was okay, and Billy told him to fuck off again. 

Steve didn’t say anything else as Billy got out of the bed, _thankfully_ still wearing all his clothes that hid the dark bruises scattered across his body, and made his way downstairs. Just as he was about to walk out the front door, Steve said his name — said it so softly that Billy froze. No one had ever said his name like _that_ before, well no one after his... Billy doesn’t want to think about her right now. 

He didn’t turn around, but he also didn’t tell Steve to fuck off when he told Billy he could come back again if he needed a place to stay for the night. Billy thought Steve must be crazy for thinking he’d _ever_ come back, but a week later he found himself at the Harrington’s doorstep in the middle of the night. This time his right eye was swollen and his lip was split, and Steve just _let him in_ , giving Billy the couch to sleep on before going upstairs with a quiet, “goodnight”. 

Billy told himself he only went there to get out of the cold whenever Neil kicked him out of the house, but when the snow stopped falling and spring drew near, Billy kept coming back and Steve kept letting him in. 

A hand gently cupping his cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up into big, brown eyes and melts into the touch.

“I think you’re all cleaned up now. Let’s go to bed?” Steve is always so gentle with him on nights like this, when he comes over bloodied and bruised. At first, it made Billy angry. He didn’t want to be pitied, but he quickly learned that Steve just _cared_ about people. Steve let Billy into his heart so easily and with so much _trust._ even after all the shit Billy had done to him. He really didn’t deserve Steve, but he was too selfish to let whatever they had go. 

He lets Steve lead him out of the bathroom and into the darkness of the bedroom. Steve’s being so _careful_ with him and he loves it, but right now Billy needs to _feel_ him, needs to be brought back because he’s stuck in his head again tonight. Steve is holding his hand, so Billy pulls him back until their chests are pressed together, grabs his face and kisses him. It’s wet and it’s filthy, and Steve moans needily as Billy licks into his mouth, tongues sliding against each other.

Billy remembers their first kiss, March 5th at 1:26 a.m. Neither of them could sleep that night, so Steve talked to Billy about his parents. How they were never there and how the quiet of the house was unbearable. How he felt so alone _all the time_ until Billy came into his life. So, Billy had told Steve about his mother, and how she used to take him to the beach to surf. He told Steve how beautiful she was. About how he used to be _happy._ How he was always so angry now.They were sitting across from each other on the couch when Steve leaned forward and kissed him. It definitely wasn’t romantic. Billy had pushed him away and ran out of the house, trying not to think of the hurt look in Steve’s eyes.

Billy didn’t go back for a week. When Steve opened the door to tell Billy to go away, the words died on his tongue and his eyes widened in shock. Billy knew that he looked like a mess, that his face was probably red and tears were flowing freely, but he didn’t care anymore. The days they were apart felt like he was being _tortured,_ worse than any bruise Neil had ever left on him. It was over those few days that Billy realized he _needed_ Steve. 

Billy fell into him, clinging to his shirt and sobbing, so Steve led him inside the house and to the couch. Billy was grateful that Steve didn’t force him to speak. He just let Billy cry against his chest until the last of the tears fell and his breathing evened out. When Billy finally calmed down, he told Steve that he _wanted_ him. That he _cared_ about him. That he shouldn’t have run away when Steve kissed him — but Steve _had to_ __k_ now _ that Billy would be _dead_ if his dad found out. That _Steve_ would be _dead_ . That they couldn’t tell _anyone_ about this. Through Billy’s fear of his father, he could see that Steve was piecing together where the bruises came from. Billy kissed him before he could say anything. 

Their physical relationship escalated quickly. Being two teenage boys, it was almost impossible to keep their hands off of each other. They experimented, learning what the other liked. Steve was unsure in the beginning, having never been with another guy, but Billy had fooled around with a boy back in California, so he took the lead in the beginning. Steve had gotten confident pretty quickly though. He loved having Billy’s cock in his mouth, turning Billy into a moaning mess while he fucked Steve’s mouth. Turns out Steve also liked bottoming _a lot_ more than him, which was _totally_ fine with Billy because he loved to feel in control. He liked hearing the pretty little noises Steve would make, and how he’d get louder and needier when Billy would fuck him harder. 

Their kiss slows, lips brushing and breaths heavy between them as they stand in the middle of the bedroom. 

“Stay with me,” Steve whispers. He wraps his arms around Billy and presses their foreheads together.

“It’s the middle of the night, Steve. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Billy runs his thumbs across Steve’s cheeks, his hands moving into thick, brown hair. He likes the feel of it without that _horrible_ Farrah Fawcett hairspray — soft like silk between his fingers.

“No, I mean stay with me. Live here with me.”

Billy’s breath hitches and his whole body freezes at Steve’s words.

“I don’t want you around him. He’s _dangerous,_ Billy. He’s almost killed you at least _three_ times since you’ve been coming here.”

“Neil is... _f_ _uck,_ I can’t leave. He’s still my _dad,_ okay.”

“Dads don’t do that to their kids,” Steve’s voice stays gentle, but he still _doesn’t_ understand that Billy can’t just _leave._ He pushes out of Steve’s arms and takes a few steps back. Steve just looks confused and it makes Billy _angry,_ so he does what he does best and lashes out.

“At least he’s _here_ , where’s your dad, _Steve_ ?” he bites back, “Oh, they’re not here, are they? Neil may be a piece of shit father, but at least he still cares enough to be here,” he immediately regrets it, “Fuck, _fuck,_ I’m sorry. I just — Steve. _I can’t take it anymore._ ” 

Steve is just staring at him with a look that Billy still can't read. He turns away, his back to Steve, as his hands grip the dresser to stop him breaking anything, _breaking_ _Steve_. Even though Billy hasn’t hurt him since that night in December, he almost _killed_ him. Billy’s so afraid he’s becoming his father that he doesn’t even trust himself anymore. He’d rather _die_ than ever touch Steve in that way again, but he knows his words always hit just as hard.

“ _Fuck,_ don’t you get it? I’m _him._ I don’t want to hurt you,” Billy whole body is tense, “I can’t live with myself if I hurt you again,” He looks up into the mirror on top of the dresser and sees himself. Everyone used to tell him he had his mother’s eyes, but now all he sees are his father’s, “I’m a _monster_ , Steve”. 

“Billy,” he can hear the tenderness in Steve’s voice and it makes his head swim. He wants to run away from this, _whatever it is,_ yet hold onto it at the same time. 

“Look at me.” 

Billy looks at him through the mirror, but he won’t turn around. He _can’t_ because he’s terrified of this, of being _cared_ about. He thinks about the way Steve smiles at him when they’re together, and it reminds him of his mom. Billy doesn’t want to let this go any further because he’s not ready to have Steve walk away from him too, but he already knows he’s in too deep. Already knows that what he feels for Steve is so much more than sex. It’s the way Steve laughs when Billy makes a dumb joke even when it’s not funny, or when his eyes warm when Billy brings him coffee in the morning. It’s that Steve has _never_ turned Billy away, even at his darkest moments.

“ _L_ _ook at me, Billy,”_ Steve’s voice is firm this time, but it’s still just as soft, “ _Please.”_

Billy turns around slowly until he’s facing Steve, but he doesn’t go any closer yet. He looks into Steve’s eye and it’s like time stops. He can’t breathe because Steve is breathtaking, standing in the glow of the moonlight that’s leaking through the window. Steve is just looking at him, waiting, because he knows that in moments like this, Billy needs to be the one to move first, or he’ll run. 

There’s blood on Steve’s shirt, but Billy can’t tell which cut on his skin it’s from — probably all of them. It hits Billy suddenly. The realization that Steve isn’t going to run away from this, from _him._ A part of him wants to make Steve run, wants to make Steve _fear_ him because whatever they have is going to break eventually, but Billy is weak. He’s powerless under Steve’s gaze. His feet start to move forward and before he even knows it, they’re less than an inch apart, eyes locked. 

“Steve...” Billy voice breaks — and Steve must see something Billy can’t because his breath hitches. 

“Take me to bed, Billy,” Steve begs.

How is he supposed to say no when Steve says it like _that?_

Billy grabs Steve’s hands and guides them to the bed. He gently pushes Steve down onto the mattress and climbs on top of him. It feels so different this time. There’s no rush to rip off clothes and get their hands on bare skin, but it’s still more intense than anything Billy has ever experienced. His whole body is buzzing and his chest feels so heavy he can barely breathe. Steve is looking up at him, pupils blown, and he’s already panting. Billy can feel Steve against him, thick and rigid in his pants. Billy knows he’s just as hard. 

He’s already shirtless from when Steve checked him for bruises, so he focuses on slipping his hands under the hem of Steve’s shirt. He spreads his fingers against the soft skin of Steve’s stomach, inching up the shirt and helping peel it off. Billy wants to kiss him, but he wants to get all these clothes off first, wants to see all of Steve’s pale skin on display. It feels like time is moving slower as they remove their pants, socks, underwear— taking the time to map exposed skin with fingers and tongues — until they’re both completely bare. Billy lifts up onto his knees between Steve’s legs and just stares. 

Steve’s hair is splayed across the pillow, arms by his head, just waiting for Billy to pin them down. He's all soft, porcelain skin and just so fucking _pretty._ He’s biting his lip and very obviously staring at Billy’s cock — thick and long— and Billy just _knows_ how needy Steve is for it.

“You want it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I need it in me, _fuck_ , Billy,” Steve’s babbling, already a mess, and Billy didn’t think he could get any harder, but his cock is _throbbing_. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Billy breathes and Steve fucking _whimpers_. He feels his cock twitch at the noise and Steve must notice because he lets out a high-pitched whine that has Billy rushing forward to claim his lips. 

Their hips rock together, the slide of their cocks getting easier as precum drips out and mixes. Steve is sucking on Billy’s tongue and Billy is pinning Steve’s wrists to the bed and it’s _so good_ , but it’s not enough. 

“Billy, please,” Steve’s begging against his lips.

Billy nods frantically and reaches for the bottle of lube they keep on the nightstand. He coats his fingers and scoots back to lift Steve’s legs up. He presses a finger against Steve’s entrance, but there’s a hand on his shoulder stopping him.

“No,” Steve’s breathless, “I’m still okay from last night. Now, Billy, _please.”_

Billy groans because _fuck_ _that's hot_ , but he still swats Steve’s hand away and gives him a look, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just be patient, baby.” 

Steve lays back, a little dazed because he _loves_ when Billy calls him that. He's always impatient with this part, but Billy knows Steve will _hurt_ tomorrow if they don't. Since they had sex the night before, it doesn’t even take long for Billy to stretch Steve real good, but he still teases him by repeatedly brushing against his prostate. Billy can see the precum leaking out of Steve’s cock as he fucks him with his fingers, and he leans forward to lick up a drop from the tip. Steve’s back arches off the bed and a moan gets caught in his throat.

“ _Now, now, Billy, now,”_ Steve sounds _wrecked._

Billy tries to help Steve flip onto his stomach, but a hand on his cheek stops him. 

“I want to look at you this time,” Steve whispers, and Billy’s grip loosens on his hip, “I want you to make love to me, Billy.”

Billy’s head spins at Steve's words. He can't seem to speak, so he just coats his cock with lube while Steve lifts his knees to his chest. With one hand resting by Steve’s head, Billy uses the other to guide his cock into Steve’s entrance. They’ve never done it this way before, and as Billy presses in slowly, inch by inch, eyes locked with Steve, he knows _why_. When he finally bottoms out he’s shaking, and — Billy’s breath hitches — Steve looks like a fucking _angel._ Billy can’t deny how he feels now, he _knows_ what this is even though he’s never felt it before. He’s surrounded by the tight heat of _Steve_ and looking into those doe eyes and —

“I love you, Billy.”

Billy chokes on whatever he was about to say. His heart is slamming against his chest and he can hear it pounding in his head. He notices water dripping onto Steve’s face and it takes him a moment to realize it’s _his_ tears falling and wetting Steve’s cheeks. 

“Steve,” Billy _whimpers_ because he still can’t understand how or why Steve loves _him._

“It’s okay. _You’re_ okay, Billy,” Steve’s trying to hold his voice together, but he’s shaking just as hard. 

It takes Billy a moment to remember what they’re doing — that his cock is buried deep inside Steve, so he pulls back and thrusts back in. They both groan, so Billy does it again and again, getting faster and harder and _fuck._ He’s staring at Steve, and Steve’s staring back at him, and it’s _too much_. Steve’s practically screaming, telling Billy the most _intimate_ fucking things — moaning about how much he needs him. How much he _loves him_ — while he takes Billy's cock _so well_. 

Billy knows he can’t last much longer, so he wraps a hand around Steve’s cock and strokes in time with his thrusts. He scared to say it, but those eyes are breaking down his walls and he thinks this might work — that _they_ might work.

“Steve,” Billy groans, “I... _fuck..._ I love you too.”

Steve’s eyes widen as he cries out, and then he’s coming, thick ropes of come splashing against his chest and onto Billy’s hand as he works him through his orgasm. Their eyes are still locked as Steve comes and his ass is clenching on Billy’s cock. It’s overwhelming. A sudden moan is ripped from deep within Billy’s chest and he comes — a heavy load that he can feel dripping out of Steve's hole as he pumps into that tight heat a few more times, riding out his orgasm. Billy almost collapses, barely managing to gently slip out and wipe them clean with the hand towel they keep on the nightstand. He throws the towel lazily in the direction of Steve's pile of dirty clothes before collapsing back onto the bed next to Steve.

Billy stares at him, eyes closed with a smile on his face. Steve looks so happy, and Billy thinks he’s happy too. He’s happier than he’s ever been in a long been — since his _mom._ He’s just so fucking happy it’s ridiculous because Steve _fucking_ Harrington loves _him._ Billy laughs.

“What?” Steve asks breathily, turning his head to look at Billy with so much warmth.

“I just love you, Steve Harrington.”


	2. Code Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...so Steve is not okay, Will saves the day, & the only answer the world wants is if eating junk food will help you get abs. 
> 
> Warning? for unintentional self-harm. Broken glass gets everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone,
> 
> I want to apologize for this late AF post. I almost like died from the plague, but now I'm back and I'm ready to cry, laugh and get steamy in our Harringrove journey. I'm thinking of updating every Wednesday night. Yes? Okay, cool. Let's do it. 
> 
> I might've cried writing this? IDK man, slow versions of songs really amp up the depression of writing post-season 3. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**August 6, 1985**

“So what’s the code red?” 

“Why are we outside Steve’s house?”

“Is Steve, okay?”

“What happened?”

“Where’s Steve?”

The members of the party, excluding a frowning El, began shouting at Dustin before he could explain the very dire situation that was currently going on inside Steve Harrington’s house. Well, Dustin didn’t _really_ know what was _exactly_ going on inside, but he definitely knew he didn’t have a good feeling about it. 

After a phone call to the Wheeler’s residence left a very annoyed Mike wincing when a “CODE RED” was shouted at him from the other line by Dustin, the rest of the party was informed shortly after, with very similar messages. The initial annoyance of Dustin’s dramatics was quickly outweighed by worry when he told them to meet in front of Steve’s house. 

“ _Oh my God! Shut up and let me talk!”_

Their mouths snapped shut. Dustin looked genuinely scared...like _the gate is open again_ scared. 

He began pacing back and forth, “So, Robin asked me to come here to watch Steve since she’s been covering his shifts because he’s like, _really_ depressed, and she didn’t want him alone and now Steve won’t open his door and I’ve been knocking for four hours. _FOUR HOURS!_ STEVE HASN’T ANSWERED FOR FOUR HOURS AND WHAT IF HE’S _DEAD_?” He took a moment to catch his breath before looking at El, “I need your help.”

“Dude, he’s probably fine. It’s been like, a _month_ . Stop making El do things just because you’re overreacting.” Mike put a hand on El’s shoulder protectively, completely oblivious to her shooting daggers at him for making decisions for her... _again._

“ _Mike_ ,” El moved out of his grasp, “Steve is our friend.”

“Yeah, but— it’s _Billy!_ Steve’s crying over _Billy!”_ Mike’s looking at everyone like they’re crazy; because does _no one_ remember that Billy Hargrove was still a douchebag before all of this? 

“What’s that supposed to mean, _Mike_?” Max is glaring at him now too, “You have something else you want to say?” 

Will and Lucas glanced warily at one another, neither wanting to get in the middle of Max and Mike going at it _again_. 

“You know what, yeah I do. He’s —”

“ _Shut. Up._ ” El’s voice is calm, but firm; and very, very, angry. Mike’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. He still blames Max for how cold El has been with him lately.

“El—”

“Shut up, Mike,” She cuts him again and turns to Dustin, “Let’s go.” 

El walks up to Steve’s front door and unclicks the lock and pushes it open with a wave of her hand. She wipes at the drop of blood from her nose, and walks inside; no one notices her guilt ridden expression. The party follows behind her. Mike is sulking, following at the back of the group.

“Steve!” Dustin shouts, but they get no answer. 

They check the living room. No Steve. The kitchen. No Steve, They do find a broken bottle of red wine on the floor and an open liquor cabinet that looks like it’s missing some bottles, so...not a good sign. 

Will suggests they go upstairs when they all sort of stand in the living room; and why did no one think of that before? Just as they start climbing the steps they hear a crash. Dustin is in the front, immediately running up the stairs and throwing open Steve’s bedroom door.

“ _Holy shit,”_ Dustin’s eyes go wide. Max is right behind him and she gasps. 

Steve’s kneeling on the floor in front of his dresser, the mirror resting on top is shattered. It’s easy to guess how it broke because Steve’s left hand is dripping blood, and his bare knees probably aren’t any better from resting on the hundreds of pieces of glass littering the carpet. He’s sobbing, making noises like a wounded animal and the kids may know how to handle demodogs and the Mindflayer, but they definitely don’t know how to handle _this._

“Steve,” it’s Max who speaks first, and she slowly walks over to Steve.

“B-Billy?” Steve croaks and Max stops dead in her tracks. 

Steve’s looking at her with glassy, red-rimmed eyes, and it’s pretty obvious he’s been drinking and crying for a while. Her eyes flicker down to the half empty bottle of whiskey in his right hand. He’s only in a pair of basketball shorts, and she can see how thin Steve looks; like he hasn’t been eating well for a while.

“No...it’s...Max,” she doesn’t really know what else to say when he looks like this. This is _not_ the Steve she knows. This Steve— this Steve scares her. He’s so _broken_ , and it twists at her heart because she didn’t really think anyone other than her was truly mourning Billy. She starts to think that Billy and Steve’s relationship was much deeper than what everyone had thought.

“Wherrrs Billeee?” He’s slurring his words and his breath _reeks_ like liquor. He looks like he’s going to start crying again. 

Max feels her own eyes water as she looks at Steve. She would be lying if she said she hasn’t been crying every night in bed since Billy’s death; but she still had El and the others to help her through it. Who did Steve have? Sure, he had Robin, but everyone knows she’s been covering his shifts at Scoops, so she’s hardly around. Nancy and Jonathan barely talk to him now, and he doesn’t talk to anyone else his age. He has _them_ , the party, but Max knows that they aren’t what Steve needs right now. He really only had Billy, and Steve had lost him. 

“I—I need,” Steve tries to stand, but that also makes glass dig deeper into his knees and left hand as he tries to push himself up.

“Steve, stop,” Max tries to get Steve to stay still, but he won’t listen. 

“I needa gettta Billeee!” Steve’s getting hysterical as Max tries to calm him down. Everyone else seems to be paralyzed in the doorway and she looks at them with wide eyes. 

“Someone help me!” she shouts, there’s a lot more blood in the carpet than before.

Dustin rushes forward and grabs Steve’s left arm tightly, “Steve, _man,_ look at me! You gotta chill or you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Billee needs mee,” Steves trembling, choking on his breath.

The others continue to just stand there, still unsure what to do...because what _can_ they do? Mike feels like he might be sick just from hearing the pained sounds Steve is making. He never liked Max’s older brother, but maybe none of them _actually_ knew what he was like except Steve; because Steve shouldn’t be crying like _that_ unless there was really something to cry over. Mike _never_ likes to admit when he’s wrong....but— He doesn’t know what to do. _No one_ knows what to do. Everyone’s trying not to panic because there is _so much_ blood on the floor now and Steve’s practically screaming as he sobs out Billy’s name.

Mike looks to El, “What do we _do_?” 

She doesn’t respond, looking at Steve with guilt and tears streaming down her face. 

“ _El!”_ Mike shouts at her, and suddenly it’s quiet. Steve goes still in Max and Dustin’s hold, head whipping up at the sound of El’s name. 

“Youuu,” Steve’s eyes are unfocused, but they still manage to sharpen in on El. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” she says over tears, and the others look between them with confusion. 

“Wha-” Mike starts, but it’s cut off as Steve speaks again with venom dripping from every drunken word. 

“It-it’s yeerrr fault,” Steve shakily points up at El, blood dripping from his finger. 

“Steve, come on,” Dustin says softly, “What are you talking abo— _SHIT!_ ” 

They all jump as Steve throws the bottle of whiskey against the far wall. It splinters into pieces of glass and the honey color liquid seeps into the wallpaper. His eyes locked with El as he screams.

“Billy’d still be heerrre n’now he’s—he’s gone!” he starts thrashing against Max and Dustin’s hold again.

None of them still know what the _fuck_ to do. Everyone is terrified because _what the hell is going on with Steve right now?_ Will is frozen in his spot behind Lucas. Lucas is looking at Max, and she’s looking between him and Steve. Dustin is trying to calm Steve down, but it’s clearly not working. Mike is saying something to El, but she’s looking at Steve; and Steve is looking at El and he’s screaming so loud he’s probably going to lose his voice. 

“YOU KILLED HIM!” Steve’s words pierce through air, and everyone just stares because he’s covered in blood and—

“Someone fucking do something!” Mike shouts at someone, _anyone_ , because he feels helpless right now. 

El’s just standing there sobbing out, “sorry,” over and over again, because that night at the mall she could _feel_ how much Steve blamed her for all of this because his thoughts were so _loud_ : she’s been dreading seeing him for weeks. 

Will finally breaks from his initial shock and pushes past Lucas, Mike, and El with a confidence the other’s have rarely, or _never_ , seen. He walks up to Steve, kneels in the glass with him, puts his hands on Steve’s face, and forces their eyes to meet. 

“Hey. It’s okay.” 

That’s all Will says and Steve manages to stop screaming and thrashing against the three kids holding him in place. The party look at him in surprise because everyone seems to forget that little Will Byers has been through hell and back, _twice_ ; and forget that he’s probably stronger than all of them _combined_. 

“You need to _stop,”_ Will says firmly.

“I need—” 

“He’d want you to take care of yourself. Right?” Will’s voice is gentle now, but still commanding; _and where did this Will come from?_

Steve looks like he wants to say something, but just nods instead because he _knows_ Will is right. Billy would not be happy seeing Steve in the state he’s in right now. 

Steves lets the kids help him up and out of the glass. He doesn’t hear their voices fluttering back and forth about _medical supplies_ and _water_ and _a broom;_ he just focuses on trying not to throw up because— _fuck he drank too much._ Once they get Steve on his bed, he finally feels the exhaustion crash into him, but he’s afraid because—

“I —I can’t...see’m die ‘vry night,” Steve slurs.

“You won’t this time. I promise,” Will says, and Steve actually believes him, “Just sleep, Steve.” 

Steve doesn’t give him a response, just closes his eyes and he’s asleep within seconds.

“El,” Will’s voice is quiet to not disturb Steve, “Can you make sure he sleeps?”

“I don’t want to make anything worse. I can’t —” El bites back another sob.

“You can make sure he dreams of something good. You can give him this today, El.” 

She nods and walks over to Steve, placing a hand on his head and making sure Steve dreams of something good — she lets his mind latch onto memories of him and Billy when they were together, when they were _happy._

It’s quiet for a moment, as the kids all take a breath to process what just happened; until Lucas finally speaks,

“Guys, I’m all for taking action, but I really think we need an adult.”

**May 14, 1985**

“Did I ever tell you how much I hate you?” 

“Shut up, you love me,” Billy says around a mouthful of chips as he sits on the end of the huge couch next to Steve’s feet — _because_ Steve is a spoiled brat who needs to lay on the whole couch in order to be comfortable.

Steve narrows his eyes at Billy in jealousy, watching as his boyfriend devours a _party sized bag_ of potato chips.

“I mean, _where does it go?_ ” he literally doesn’t understand how Billy still has abs; beautiful, delicious, tan abs that — _focus Steve_ — while he eats more junk food than Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will at one of the slumber parties they beg Steve to have at his house. 

Billy cackles and his tongue sticks out, “It’s called a workout, _Stevie._ Try it.”

Steve is only slightly annoyed at the fact that he finds all of Billy’s stupid laughs attractive now. How Steve can go from hating everything about the guy to thinking he’s adorably hot and stupid is baffling. Well, if Steve’s honest, Billy was _always_ hot, but he’s never going to say that out loud because Billy’s ego is already way too big...among other things and— _stop Steve, don’t get distrac—_

“Thinking about my dick again, princess?”

Steve chokes on air because _how did he know?_ Steve is tempted to ask, but he also doesn’t want Billy to know that that was _exactly_ what he was thinking about because he’s been laughed at enough today, so Steve just pouts instead. It’s really not his fault that Billy is _too_ hot and it leaves Steve distracted when he’s trying to have very important thoughts about potato chips and calories in relation to washboard abs. 

“Babbyyy,” Billy throws the bag of chips to the floor—and Steve wants to say something because _crumbs_ — “Don’t make that face. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, princess.”

Steve just scoffs because his feelings are totally not hurt, he just likes the attention he gets and Billy _knows it._

“You’re an ass.” 

“You love my ass,” Billy laughs lightly as he _crawls_ towards Steve on the couch and— _fuck_ _he’s so hot_ — Steve cannot get distracted right now. 

Steve puts his foot on Billy’s left shoulder to stop him from getting any further, and his breath hitches when their eyes lock. Steve doesn’t remember if Billy’s eyes were always this blue; maybe it’s the setting sun shining in through the sliding glass door, illuminating Billy’s face in a golden glow. Right now, Steve doesn’t know what color he’s even seeing: green, gold, blue, turquoise— it’s a swirl of shades that remind Steve of that time ( _only time_ ) his parents took him with them on vacation and they went to the West Coast. Steve remembers the way the sunlight bounced across the ocean waves, reflecting rainbows in blue and green shades as he waded through the water; it might have been the happiest Steve had ever been in his life— until now. 

Steve is paralyzed under the weight of Billy’s gaze, lost and drowning in the endless sea of his eyes. 

Billy’s eyes are heavy with lust as he presses a kiss to the soft skin of Steve’s ankle; uses his right hand to run up Steve’s other leg. Billy’s hand rests heavy on Steve’s bare thigh — it’d been so hot all day they hadn’t bothered to put anything on other than shorts— and Steve isn’t sure if he’s glad because the skin-on-skin contact is making him dizzy. Billy is like a fucking space heater and Steve can feel the heat radiating off of his tan skin and it _burns_ against Steve’s pale flesh.

“Billy,” Steve groans because he can’t think of anything else to say with the way his brain is going cloudy. 

Billy hums. It’s deep and so _manly_ ; and it buzzes through his body and into Steve’s _bones_ , “Yes, princess?”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out because Billy is sliding up and on top of him. Steve feels like he’s overheating because Billy is like sunshine; too much and you’ll get burned, but Steve really, _really,_ doesn’t care. He hasn’t felt this alive in _years_ . Even more so now after he almost _died_ in a fucking other dimension that was so _cold,_ but Billy’s heat makes him feel safe; the burn of his skin, the warmth of kisses, the fire in his heart. 

“Use your words, sweetheart,” Billy’s smirking above Steve, blond curls framing his face like a halo — and _fuck he’s beautiful._

“Need..you...” Steve swallows, licks his lips to wet his mouth because it’s gone dry; Billy watches his tongue with hungry eyes, “I need you.” 

Billy leans his head down, lowers his body, bare chests press together. He’s hard and Steve can feel the heavy weight of him against his own stiffening cock.

“You got me,” Billy whispers into Steve’s lips, “You fucking got me, Steve. _Always_.” 

Steve body ignites fast and intense like a fire doused with too much gasoline. He weaves a hand into Billy’s hair to slot their lips together in a sloppy kiss; his other hand reaching down to squeeze Billy’s _perfect_ ass. Billy moans loudly, their teeth clacking together and tongues slipping against each other. 

Billy grinds down against Steve, clothed cocks rubbing together; too much friction, yet still not enough. Steve really wants to tell Billy to take off what little clothes they have so he can really _feel_ him, but there’s a tongue in his mouth that’s _sinful_ and Steve doesn’t want that to stop either.

Thankfully they’re on the same page anyways because Billy’s using a hand to slide down his shorts and pull out his cock, doing the same to Steve until it’s flesh on flesh. Billy reluctantly pulls his mouth away from Steve’s— a trail of spit linking their kiss-swollen lips together— to lick at his palm until it’s slick; uses it to grasp Steve’s cock and stroke. 

Steve’s hips buck and his head falls back deeper into the couch, neck exposed for Billy to suck at. Billy’s hand is wet, but still dry enough for a comfortable and light drag against the soft skin of Steve’s cock and he pumps him, thumb occasionally running across the head. 

“You like that, baby?” Billy pants into Steve’s neck, licking and sucking between each heavy breath.

“Yes, fuck, _yes,_ ” Steve gasps out because it’s so _good_. 

It takes a moment for Steve to acknowledge that Billy is also hard and leaking pre-cum between their stomachs because his brain always short circuits when Billy touches him.

“Shit— fuck, let me— ” words aren’t Steve’s strong suit when he’s close to coming, so instead he just reaches down to wrap a hand around Billy’s cock.

Billy lets out a whine and a curse when Steve _finally_ touches his cock. They stroke in the same rhythm, too slow and torturous for two teenage boys, but a teasing build-up that’s delicious to chase. Steve can feel their sweat-soaked bodies making their skin stick together at every movement, hands brushing against each other at each glide on leaking cocks. Steve is _really_ close and he can tell Billy is too by the feel of his abs continually flexing against Steve’s stomach. 

“Kiss me, _fuck,_ kiss me _now._ ”

Billy readily complies to Steve’s demand because he’d do _anything_ Steve asked of him, and also Billy just really wants to kiss him again too.

Tongues slide against each other, lips wet, moans mixing together. Their hands speed up, hips erratically fucking up into the quick strokes. Steve feels his orgasm curl in the pit of his stomach, the prickly tingle in his toes, the heaviness of it in his balls. 

“I’m gonna-” Steve wants it to last longer, but he doesn’t know if he can.

“Me too,” Billy’s panting against his lips, “Let go, baby.” 

Steve’s vision goes white and his ears ring as his orgasm rips through his body, shocking his system as he comes; Billy’s groaning on top of him, spilling thick spurts of come that mix with Steve’s; a sticky mess both secretly love. 

Steve doesn’t know how long it’s been, but suddenly he feels a familiar weight on top of him that breaks him out of his post-orgasm haze. Billy is _heavy._ He usually rolls off of Steve, but sometimes he forgets after a particularly intense orgasm. 

“Billy—heavy—,” Steve grunts, and Billy mumbles a sorry as he lifts a bit of his weight off the other. 

Billy smiles down at him— not those shark-like ones he gives out in public— but genuine; ones that heat Steve up in a different way.

“You know I love you, right?” 

Steve really loves when Billy tells him he loves him—especially when Billy says it first—it’s a sign that their trust is building, that Billy isn’t as scared that Steve will leave him. 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, strong and independent Will Byers is my life. We all know Steve is projecting his anger onto El because he's grieving (and so am I). I still don't know how long this will be, but I have so many ideas. Is the present and past thing working for you guys? I kinda like it.


	3. Hopper and Billy...Sorta Bond? Also, Robin is Hurting Too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Hopper do....feelings? Is that what they're doing now? Also, Robin is really fed up with Steve acting like he's the only one who lost someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! This one is short and I feel super bad about that, but university and working is really tough. To make it up to you all, I'll have another chapter posted between now and next Wednesday's update. This chapter is mainly an introduction to getting Robin in the story, and for setting up the major shift in Billy and Hopper's relationship. My Baby Billy needs a healthy father figure and Jim takes in strays because he's a saint.

**Date Unknown**

“Hey, kid. Wake up.”

There’s a deep voice that sounds far away and Billy struggles to respond, but his tongue feels heavy like steel. He slowly forces his eyes open. It’s dark, and— _ no, oh god no.  _ Billy feels himself begin to panic in the blackness because it was dark like this _before—_ when that creature took over him—and he  can’t  go through that again. _He_ _can't_. 

“Woah, calm down. You’re okay, kid. You're safe.”

There’s that voice again. Billy thinks he recognizes it; it sounds safe, familiar, and that helps to calm him down. He tries blinking his eyes a few times and before he can panic again, things _finally_ start coming into focus. He’s more assured now that he’s not trapped in a dark void, but he thinks it definitely has to be late at night because his eyes are straining to see what's around him. It looks like a living room. There’s a softness beneath him and his hands grip into smooth leather; a couch— he's definitely in a living room. 

“You good now?”

The voice is much closer now and Billy quickly tilts his head to the side to look for the source; the movement makes his skull throb and he groans. 

“Easy, kid. You hit your head pretty hard.” 

It takes a moment for Billy’s eyes to focus in on the figure in front of him. It’s Hopper...he’s with Hopper — _but why was he with the_ _Chief_?... Wait—Okay, yeah, so they were looking for food because they ran out at the last house and...they’re trapped...somewhere—where the air is too thick and _cold_ —and then he panicked...because of….Billy remembers now. 

He doesn’t want to think about it too much anymore.

“S-sorry,” he stumbles; tongue still heavy and head fuzzy.

“It’s alright. I’m just glad you didn’t crack your skull open. Probably a hell of a bruise somewhere under that rat’s nest though,” Hopper has a shit-eating grin; almost like he’s daring Billy to bite back at him for insulting his hair, which Billy— _of course—_ does. 

“I don’t know, Chief. I’d rather have my hair than that dirty beard,” Billy smirks back at him; mocking Hopper’s mustache that had quickly grown into a beard over the time they’d been stuck here. 

Billy knows Hopper’s been joking with him to keep them both distracted; passing quips back and forth to avoid the reality of their situation. Billy is grateful, but he’s not going to thank him. He also knows Hopper doesn’t want him too either. They’re not the type of guys who do “feelings”. Billy only does feelings with…he feels his eyes water, and _fuck_ it’s embarrassing to be this weak in front of anyone else other than Steve.

“I’m in love with Joyce Byers,” Hopper words break Billy out of his thoughts.

“What?” Billy is confused because where did that come from? He has to admit Ms. Byers is a babe, but after that time he flirted with Mrs. Wheeler and Steve didn’t talk to him for two days, he tends to not comment on moms anymore. 

“I’m in love with Joyce Byers,” Hopper repeats, his voice sounds weak and it makes Billy's stomach feel funny, “I didn’t tell her, you know? I should’ve, but... I’ve always been too stubborn...didn’t want to give it all out again and get hurt. You know, kid, I’ve been keeping things bottled up inside for a long time. It doesn’t get easier...you just get...angrier. You hurt people. You push them away.” 

Hopper looks at Billy with wet eyes, and they both know Billy gets it. He's pretty sure the only reason Hopper is spilling his heart out is because he saw Billy break down earlier; finally saw that the kid had more to him than flying fists. Billy appreciates Hopper letting him see this moment of weakness. He wants to say something back, but he doesn’t know what he can say, so he just waits until Hopper speaks again. 

“You love Steve, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” This time Billy does respond; it feels like something is stuck in his throat, but he manages to speak around it.

“Did you tell him?” Hopper’s gaze is locked onto Billy's in the darkness of the room and for the first time, he knows that this guy  _ actually  _ gets it. They both understand that they left someone behind who gave them a reason to fight...a reason to _live._ Two men with armors of the thickest metal; slowly broken apart by the sweetest of hearts, only to have their weaknesses exposed and end up losing it all... _again_. He’s never met anyone who understands why he chooses to be alone. He doesn’t want to be hurt...doesn’t want to lose any more people in his life, but now they’re the ones who people lost, and they’re  _ hurting.  _ Hopper didn't get to let Joyce know how he felt about her, so he's feeding off the hope that Billy told Steve. 

“Yeah—Yeah, I did,” The leather is wet against Billy's face. 

“That’s more than I ever had the balls to do. You’re a tough kid, Billy,” Hopper might be crying too, but it’s too dark to tell if the shimmering on his face is tears or sweat, “Steve’s gonna be okay. Everyone we care about...they’re all going to be okay.”

Billy closes his eyes again tightly; maybe he'll wake up from this nightmare...he knows he won't. There's a beat of silence before he speaks, "Joyce...she—she knows."

He hears Hopper's take a deep, shaky breath. They don’t speak after that; finding comfort in having someone else in the room to share the pain. It's almost silent, only the sounds of the two’s quiet cries filling the room. 

**August 6, 1985**

Steve’s head is pounding and even with his eyes closed it's still too bright. He feels sick, and before he can try and calm his stomach down, he’s leaning over the side of his bed and emptying everything in his gut. It's all liquid and it burns coming back up—Steve remembers that he was drinking before... drinking  _ a lot.  _ He groans and chooses to stay laying half off the bed because every movement makes his brain spin. In his blurry vision, he sees that there’s a bin beneath his head on the side of the bed, which is great because he didn’t throw up on his carpet, but who put it—

“Sleeping beauty awakes!” Steve winces because the voice is so _ loud;  _ and, wait, Steve knows that voice.

“Robin?” his voice sounds hoarse, and not just because of the alcohol; it sounds like he’s been screaming and  _ what the hell happened _ ? 

“Ding ding ding! And he wins an award for the correct answer!” Robin’s voice pierces into Steve’s skull and he really wants to tell her to shut up, but speaking hurts, “What prize should King Steve get? Maybe another bottle of alcohol, so he can drown his sorrows away?”

Steve slowly pries open his eyes—taking his time adjusting to the light— to look at Robin and glare. She’s wearing her Scoops uniform and— _ is that blood on his floor?  _

“Wha—”

“The blood?” Robin cuts him off when she sees Steve's eyes go to the floor, “You made a mess of yourself— _ drunk out of your mind _ —screaming for Billy in a pile of broken glass and _terrifying_ _the_ _kids_... _ That’s  _ what happened.”

Hearing Billy’s name makes Steve feel sick in a different way; makes him angry...scared...broken...His heart shatters whenever he says that name...whenever he even _thinks_ it. He doesn’t want to hear anyone speak about him because _he_ _was_ _ Steve’s.  _

“D-don’t talk about hi—”

“No!” Robin shouts and it makes Steve’s mouth snap shut because  _ whoa,  _ he’s never heard her yell like that before, “Stop acting like you’re the only one who’s hurting, Steve! You’re not the only one who lost someone!” 

Steve's presses his palms against ears because she's so _loud._ His head rattles and he definitely can't understand what she's saying if she continues to scream. He hears Robin sigh. She takes a moment to calm herself; taking a few deep breaths before she makes her way over to Steve. She sits cross-legged on the foot of his bed and looks at him. She looks more relaxed, so Steve lowers his hands.

“Look...He may have been your boyfriend, Steve...but...he was also my friend...my  _ best friend. _ I miss him  _ too _ , okay? You’re not alone in this, and we both know he’d kick our asses if he saw one of us...,” she looks at the blood on the carpet and back to Steve's face, “...if he saw one of us falling apart.”

Steve didn't think he could feel worse, but he feels even more like shit now. He knows Robin and Billy were friends—pretty good friends—but he didn’t really know they were _that_ close _._ He really thought they just bonded over “being gay and their mutual enjoyment of fucking with King Steve” (Billy’s exact words). Steve thinks of her covering all his shifts— _apparently,_ _so he can drink and almost accidentally kill himself_ —while she has to put on a smile after her best friend died in front of her eyes barely a month ago. 

“Robin, I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, careful not to strain his voice too much, "I don't know what to do without him." 

“I know—look, it’s—it’s okay,” Robin’s trying to smile, but it still doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “Just...I can’t lose you too.” 

Steve feels his chest tighten, “...I’m trying.”

“I know, Steve. I am too,” Robin pulls at the collar of her uniform, “Oh...By the way, Joyce Byers heard what happened and she’s on her way.”

Steves groans and closes his eyes again.  _ Fuck.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story should start getting heavy into S3 in about one to two more chapters after this! (Be prepared for the angst) Then let's work on getting our babies reunited, so they can all live happily ever after.


	4. Take on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy answers Steve's question way too late and Steve secretly loves A-ha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what to say other thanking all of you for such positive feedback. Writing brings me peace and joy even when life gets way too hard to get a lot of shit done. <3
> 
> Also, my work is un-beta'd (is that how you write it), so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes!

**August 6, 1985**

Steve has a very strong suspicion that he’s in what most people would call an “intervention”. Joyce is sitting across from him in one of the chairs brought from his dining room and she clearly wasn’t the only one who was coming over to Steve’s tonight. He’s squished between Dustin, Will, Max, and Lucas on the couch, Mike and El are sitting on the loveseat to his left, Robin is in another dining chair next to Joyce, and Nancy and Jonathan are on the other loveseat to his right. Steve is positive this is an intervention. 

He’s not quite sure if they want to talk about the drinking...or Billy...or _both_ ...It’s probably both. He really doesn’t want to talk about it—hell, he doesn’t even want to _think_ about it. He’s definitely sober now, but his head is still fucking pounding—even after the Ibuprofen and three cups of water Robin forced him to have. 

Steve’s also pretty sure Robin is the one who organized this whole thing. He shoots a glare at her from across the room, and she just raises an eyebrow at him with her arms crossed like he _knew_ this was coming and okay ...that's understandable— but why can’t everyone just let him mourn. He lost _everything_ that night ...and he _knows_ Robin is hurting too, but she _still_ has her high school friends. 

Steve feels overwhelmed because there are way too many people in his house and none of them are even Billy, and he _really_ wants Billy. He wants to be held by those strong arms in a warm embrace that always makes him feel like everything is okay—but it’s _not_ okay. Steve isn’t sure if it will ever be okay again. He’s trying to think of how he can figure out a way to get everyone out of his house, and maybe if he just— 

“Steve, honey, “Joyce’s soft voice breaks Steve out of his thoughts and brings his attention towards her. He’s always amazed at how she exudes such a comforting, motherly presence. Sometimes in the privacy of his own thoughts—or in the secrets that used to be shared between two lovers late at night— he wishes his own mother could be more like Joyce Byers. 

“Y-yeah?” Steve’s voice is already shaking and they haven’t even started asking him questions. Billy would’ve had it together. Billy always knew how to pretend he was okay— well to everyone except Steve. Steve wishes he could pretend he was fine right now. 

“Steve,” Joyce eyes are full of concern and Steve’s palms start to feel sweaty, “We’re all here tonight because we’re worried about you.”

“I mean thanks, but I— I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Steve!” Dustin shouts from beside him and it bounces around in Steve’s already aching head, “You could’ve killed yourself!”

“Dear, calm down,” Joyce’s voice stays calm. (She knows that now isn’t the time for shouting if they actually want to have a conversation with Steve. She remembers how hard it was after losing Bob, but she also had to keep it together for her kids after everything had happened. She wasn’t left alone with her thoughts in an empty home for long enough to let the memories consume—still isn’t left alone long enough to think of Jim…She turns her focus back to Steve), “You do understand that you could have really hurt yourself though, right honey?” 

“Yes,” Steve already knows he’s not taking care of himself. He already knows that he could have accidentally killed himself today with all that shattered glass his drunken self decided to wallow on top of, but he doesn’t know if he cares. It’s not that Steve wants to die, but he also doesn’t know how to live right now because almost every minute of the day is torture. He can’t wake up anymore next to a warm body wrapped around him or stare into ocean blue eyes that twinkle in the moonlight— can’t exchange whispered _I love you’s_ against parted lips.

The kids stay silent, and Steve has a feeling Joyce asked them not to say anything tonight—that she knew if Steve heard how upset the kids really were it would make him too guilt-ridden to stay in the room. Robin doesn’t speak either; the two of them already having had a deep conversation in Steve’s bathroom while she helped him clean himself up. She even made him laugh for a moment before they quickly both started crying because they were laughing about _Billy_.

“We just want to know how we can help, honey. Drinking it all away won’t make it better. _I know it won’t,_ ” Joyce’s words stop Steve from being like a defiant teenager and telling her she didn’t know what she was talking about—because she did. 

“I—” Steve knows. He _knows_ , but—

“This just isn’t like you, Steve,” Nancy cuts in, “This isn’t the Steve I know.”

And...okay, _what?_ Nancy _never_ knew who Steve really was. Their relationship only touched the surface of what was really going on Steve’s life, but he needed to have everything be _perfect_ because Nancy couldn’t handle anything less than that. Steve felt the stirrings of anger on the back of his tongue. 

“I’m sorry, but why are _you_ even here? 

“What? Steve, why would you say that?” Nancy’s eyes go wide like she has no idea what he’s talking about, “I’m here because I care about you.”

“Come on Nancy, we’re not even friends right now,” Steve doesn’t get how Nancy can’t see that her being here is just totally inappropriate. He doesn’t hate her, and of course a part of him still cares for her, but she _really_ doesn’t need to be here. Steve knows it’s to ease her conscience for everything that’s happened between the two of them, but that also pisses him off because this isn’t about her. She doesn’t have a right to know about him and Billy, just like he doesn’t need to know about her and Jonathan. 

“Steve, man, that’s not—” 

“You shouldn’t be here either,” Steve turns his sharp gaze towards Jonathan, “Maybe _you_ guys feel like you need to be here, but did you ever think that _I_ wouldn’t want you here?”

“Ste—” Nancy tries, but Steve cuts her off again.

“No, Nancy. Look, it’s great you two are happy together, but I don’t need a reminder that you two get to be together because you both survived, and I’m alone because Bil—” the rest of Steve’s words get caught behind a sob— and fuck he’s crying again. 

Steve feels like he’s never going to stop crying and he hates himself because he’s been so mean to everyone, pushing them away with his cruel words and stand-offish actions. He just doesn’t know how to handle himself and he’s going insane because he can’t even _sleep_ without seeing Billy die— can’t go anywhere in his house sober because every _fucking_ room reminds him of time spent with Billy; memories of tender kisses, a comforting embrace, laughing, making love, crying, talking— _everything_ is Billy. Steve was never this dependent on Nancy—never felt like his soul ignited into flames at a simple touch or that every corner of his spirit died when she left him...he felt that way with Billy.

Nancy is paralyzed next to Jonathan and she doesn’t know what to say because she’s _never_ seen Steve like this. (She finally understands why the kids were so concerned about him when they talked to her earlier because the person in front of her is _not_ Steve. She hates to admit that she probably doesn’t really know everything about him, but she knows enough to know that he is _not_ okay. It scares her. She feels Jonathan’s hand tighten around hers and she knows he’s just as worried.) 

Steve knows he must look like even more of a wreck now that he’s lost his composure. He’s got bandages all over his legs and left hand—bits of cloth tinged red from fresh wounds—he’s obviously lost a little weight, his hair is a mess, his dark circles could easily be mistaken for bruises, and now he’s crying uncontrollably _again_ in front of _everyone_. He covers his face with his hands and rests his elbows on the top of his thighs, hunching over and trying to hide himself from worried eyes. The kids are tense beside him; silent—as if they’re holding their breaths, afraid that any movement or sound will have Steve snap.

Steve hates himself because none of this would have happened if he would have just realized what was going on with Billy. He _knew_ something was wrong, but he chose to let Billy push him away— too hurt by the words exchanged between them the last time they _really_ spoke. Steve was wrong, he was _so wrong._

“It’s my fault,” Steve mumbles into his tear puddled hands; he tastes salt on his tongue when he opens his mouth. 

“Steve, honey, you need to talk a little louder. Can you look at us?” Joyce’s voice is soothing, but Steve still doesn’t want to move his hands— let them get a closer look at the pain in his eyes.

“I should have known,” Steve says, “I could have saved him.” 

He thinks of that day at the public pool in the locker room. Steve had went to go see Billy and ask why he didn’t come over the night before like he was supposed to. He remembers Billy’s harsh words and him just _leaving_ . Now that he has time to _really_ think, he remembers the haunted look in Billy’s eyes, the trembling hands, the cold skin—Steve _should_ have done something.

“He was happy you left.” 

Steve hears El speak softly, but the words are enough to get him to look up this time. He blames her—in a completely unjustified way—even though he shouldn’t. He knows that she knows—Robin _also_ filled Steve in on everything he said to the kids earlier that day because he was too drunk to remember any of it. Steve wants to apologize, but he’s not ready yet. It makes him feel like shit, but he just _can’t_ right now.

“What did you say?” 

“He knew he would have hurt you if you stayed any longer,” El explains, “He fought it until you left.” 

Steve takes a shaky breath because _fuck_ . He doesn’t know if that makes him feel worse or better, but he _still_ should have known something was wrong. 

“I should have _known_ ,” Steve’s been consumed by guilt these past few weeks because Billy was his _boyfriend_ for fuck’s sake. How did he not _know_?

“You couldn’t have.” 

“But I—”

“I didn’t even know right away.” El cuts him off and...wait—

“What?” Steve’s seriously confused now because how did _El_ not know. He thought she was connected to the upside down and the Mindflayer. 

“It was too smart this time. It tricked all of us,” El has a troubled look in her eyes when she speaks. In some twisted way, it makes Steve feel better to have the knowledge that even she couldn’t figure it out right away—that maybe he can blame himself less for not knowing. 

Everyone is just watching the two of them— eyes flickering between Steve and El as they share this moment, unaware to anyone else but each other. No one really knows if they _should_ even say anything. 

“When I was in the void,” El continues, “He wanted me to tell you something.”

“Wh-what?” Steve doesn’t know if he wants to hear her what she has to say— doesn’t know if he can handle it. 

“He wanted me to tell you that—” There’s a light tremor in El’s voice as she speaks, “He wanted me to tell you that he’ll stay. He wants to stay.”

Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry because _finally_ — but it hits him just as quickly that Billy can never _stay_ because he’s fucking _dead._ Steve guesses his body decided on the latter when he feels heavy tears run down his face, and apparently he’s also going for the first option too when he begins to laugh. It sounds broken, and _pained_ — Steve isn’t actually sure if it really is a laugh because it definitely doesn’t feel good.

He honestly can’t remember any more of the stupid “intervention” after that because he’s gone numb; every feeling shrinking away into nothingness until the only thing Steve feels is emptiness. Steve doesn’t even want to think about the pain Billy must’ve been in— how it felt having to push Steve away. 

**July 1, 1985**

_“I don’t understand!”_

The words echo in Billy’s mind as he tries to figure out where he is and what he’s doing. He has to blink a few times because it’s so _bright_ and it’s so unbearably _hot_ that Billy feels his skin is literally going to _burn_. He thinks he hears sounds of splashing and laughter, smells chlorine and sunscreen, and after a few more blinks things finally start to come into focus. He’s...at the pool? When did he even get here? 

He looks around a bit and realizes he’s up on the lifeguard stand. It’s way too hot up here and Billy can feel sweat dripping down the side of his face. Was he sick or something? He _never_ sweats this much unless he working out or fucking Steve— _shit._ He didn’t go to Steve’s last night, right? What the hell _happened?_ He tries to remember, but the heat is unbearable and Billy feels like he might pass out.

“Billy!” 

Billy’s head is pounding and he feels like he _has_ to have a fever because he can’t even think straight. 

“Hey, Billy!” 

“What?” He looks down from the lifeguard stand and there’s a fuzzy view of one of the female lifeguards he works with. He never remembers their names, but he doesn’t really care because he’s not interested in getting their attention anymore.

“I’ve been trying to tell you we’re closing up,” She blows a bubble with her gum and pops it; the sound deafening against Billy’s growing headache, “I have to be somewhere right now, so can you just lock up?” 

“Uh, yeah,” He usually wouldn’t let anyone tell him what to do, but his head _hurts_ and he has this weird feeling deep in his gut that makes him feel like breaking something—breaking _her_. Where the fuck did that come from? Billy has _never_ hit or wanted to hit a woman before. He is _not_ his father. 

She gives him a wink and says thank you before heading out of the pool. Billy waits until he hears her car pull away—waits until he makes sure no one is still here— because he has this strange feeling that he doesn’t _trust_ himself and he doesn’t know why. He shakily gets down from the lifeguard sand and _stumbles_ into the locker room. He has to be sick because there’s no other explanation for how horrible he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t even get like this after a night of drinking too much of Mr. Harrington’s overly expensive scotch that he and Steve sometimes steal from the liquor cabinet in the study. 

Billy throws open the shower curtain to the closet stall and hurriedly turns on the water, making sure it’s to the coolest setting, and _finally_ icy water is splashing over his head to cool down his scalding skin. He stands beneath the cold spray until it starts to set deep into his bones and he can finally begin to think clearly. Billy remembers driving over to Steve’s, then something hit his car...did he crash? He tilts his head up to let the water wash over his face—tries to jog his memory with the sting of harsh water. 

“Babe?”

Billy whips around, wet hair slapping across his face and he quickly moves it out of his eyes to see the person in front of him.

“Steve?” Billy’s confused because why is Steve _here_? They don’t really do things together in public because Billy would be dead if word got around to Neil and Steve definitely wasn’t ready for anyone to know either, “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you,” Steve’s got that little pout on his face that he always has when he’s making sure Billy’s okay. Normally, Billy finds it endearing and it gives him butterflies when he’s reminded that Steve cares about him, but right now there’s a quiet voice in the back of his head telling him to smack the look off of Steve’s face. The thought makes Billy feel like he might throw up, so he takes a step back from Steve until his back hits the wall; the water from the shower-head creating a protective curtain between him and Steve, “Babe, are you okay?” 

Billy doesn’t really know how to respond. His body doesn’t feel sick anymore after he cooled down, but his _mind_ feels sick. He hasn’t wanted to hurt Steve since that night in the Byer’s house, and even then he didn’t _really_ want to hurt Steve—even though he physically _did._ He doesn’t know why he’s having these thoughts, or why it feels like something is crawling under his skin and trying to slip into his brain. He doesn’t know how to tell Steve because he still doesn’t even know what’s going on. 

Billy’s silence must not be the right decision for keeping Steve away from him because suddenly Steve’s in front of him, fluffy hair and clothes quickly soaked beneath the spray.

“Shit, Billy. This is fucking cold,” Steve reaches a hand towards the knob, “You must be freezing. Let me turn it up—”

“No!” Billy practically shouts and he grabs Steve’s wrist in a harsh grip that has the other boy wincing, “Wait, _fuck_ , baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m just—keep it cold. I think I just overheated in the sun today.” 

Billy loosens his hold on Steve’s wrist; Steve takes that as an opportunity to move his hand up and intertwined their fingers. 

“Finally becoming a local,” Steve teases and he moves a bit forward into Billy’s space so his face is out of the spray, “What happened to my Cali boy?”

Billy tries to laugh, but having Steve so close is making him feel _strange_. It doesn’t feel good like how it usually should; it feels _wrong_.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem off.” Steve pauses, “Was…was it Neil?” 

“N-no. I just—Fuck, you’re shaking. Get out of the water.” Billy gently puts his hands on Steve’s hips and guides them to the side of the tiny shower stall. He puts Steve against the side wall, so Steve is out of the spray, but it’s still hitting Billy’s back, keeping him cold, “I’m sorry I didn’t come over last night.”

“It’s okay,” Steve’s voice is so _forgiving_ and Billy doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone so understanding—doesn’t even _ask_ Billy for answers because he trusts him that much. It makes Billy’s heart beat a little faster—the moment of tenderness between them enough to block his mind from all other thoughts and worries. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Billy’s breaths against Steve’s lips—and when did they get that close? Billy starts to think he’s feeling better now and maybe all he really needed was just to see Steve; a lot of his bad moods go away when he’s with Steve.

Steve’s hands slide up Billy’s body until he’s tenderly holding Billy’s face in his hands; thumbs brushing against cheekbones, “I love you, too.” (Billy’s skin is unusually cold compared to the comforting heat when Steve touches him, but Steve just assumes it’s from the water still spraying down his body.) 

Billy tilts his head to slot their lips together and presses himself forward until his bare chest is stuck against Steve’s wet t-shirt. The kiss is slow, _loving_ —

 **Bring him to me** **_._ **

Billy rips himself away from Steve in shock because that was _not_ his own voice in his head. What the _fuck_ was _that_?

**Build.**

Suddenly memories flash by in quick succession; crashing his car, walking into the warehouse, being dragged _somewhere_ by _something,_ a twisted version of himself, a monster illuminated by red lightning...the feeling of something _alive_ and purely evil merging itself with him.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Steve reaches towards him with a frown and tries to move closer, but Billy quickly moves back until he’s against the other side of the stall. It’s too small in here and Steve is too _close_ because Billy now knows that he doesn’t just have a cold. Something worse is happening to him and he doesn’t want Steve anywhere near him because he doesn’t know what he's capable of doing. 

“Stay away from me.”

“Wh-what? Billy, are you—”

“Stay _away_ from me, Steve,” Billy spits the words out like venom and it makes Steve flinch back. (Steve doesn’t remember the last time Billy’s spoken to him like that and it worries him—hurts him more).

**We will start with him.**

**_No. Not Steve._ ** Billy tries to tell it that it _cannot_ be Steve, but the voice doesn’t seem to listen to him because Billy feels a strong urge to hurt the boy in front of him _._ He needs to get away from Steve immediately.

“You need to _leave_.”

“Billy, just tell me what’s wrong,” Steve’s eyes are wide with worry and Billy’s heart feels like it’s _breaking_ , but he knows what he needs to do.

“We’re done.” He tries not to let his voice shake. 

“Bil—wait, what?” 

“This... _us..._ It’s over. I can’t do this anymore.”

Steve looks at Billy like he can’t believe what he just heard. 

“You just said you _loved_ me like 5 minutes ago. What the _fuck_ , Billy?” 

“Sorry princess, I just wanted to get laid one last time,” Billy’s struggling to get out the words because he feels himself losing control, “Guess I couldn’t do it. Didn’t want you enough anymore.” His fingernails dig into his palms—hard enough to make him bleed. 

**Stop wasting time.**

**_Shut up._ **

“I can’t believe you,” Steve’s eyes are red and Billy can’t stand seeing him cry, but this needs to be done, “You don’t mean that.” 

**Do it.**

“Already got my dick wet from you too many times,” He’s forcing the words out through his teeth, “Plenty of _bitches_ in the sea.”

Steve takes a step back from the sting of the words, feels the flashback of the _old_ Billy—the Billy he hated. Billy sees the betrayal flash in Steve’s eyes and he knows his cruel words have worked. 

“You were right,” Steve tone is cold, “You’ll _never_ change.”

Steve walks out of the stall and Billy can hear the locker room door slam closed. Steve is safe.

Billy _hates_ himself.

**You are weak.**

**_Shut the fuck up._ **

**You will not fail me again.**

**_Fuck. You._ **

**You are mine now.**

Billy almost falls to the ground when he feels something shift inside him. He can feel it _move_ inside of him and when he looks down there are black veins spreading across his skin. His head is going fuzzy and it’s like he’s being locked in a box that’s getting smaller and smaller. He barely hears the locker room door open and the sound of footsteps getting nearer. 

“Oh Billy, you’re still here?” someone’s speaking to him—it’s a girl—but his vision is going black around the edges and he can’t tell who they are, “I forgot some—wait, are you okay?” 

He is definitely _not_ okay because he’s pretty sure he was just about to kill _Steve,_ and these memories are flooding back into his mind. He’s _scared_. He wants to try to throw up whatever that thing forced inside him, but it’s already settled in his stomach and he can _feel_ it spreading along his bones—flowing in his veins. 

**Take her.** ****

Billy tries to ignore the voice, “No, I—uh, I’m cool.” He probably doesn’t look “cool”, plastered against the shower wall, trying to dig his hands into the tile to keep his hands wrapped around something other than her neck and _squeeze._

**Take her.** ****

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She’s moving closer towards him and Billy feels like his head is splitting open because it’s breaking into the deep corners of his _mind_ now— he finally feels the last bit of his control slip away.

**NOW!**

Billy doesn’t remember anything after he slams her head against the wall. 

**August 6, 1985**

Steve is completely exhausted. Everyone left except Robin—who _told_ Steve she was spending the night instead of even _asking—_ and now all he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep. He knows the likelihood of him sleeping is...unlikely, but he wants to try. 

He doesn’t even remember much of what happened after hearing what El had said, but he knows that everyone believes him when he said he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. He really didn’t even feel like drinking anymore anyways—knows that Billy wouldn’t want him to waste his life away. Billy gave up his _life_ for Steve and the others. Steve isn’t going to let Billy’s sacrifice be in vain. 

He’s kind of just standing in the middle of his room when Robin walks in. 

“You sure you don’t want me to sleep in here?” Robin’s tone is unusually gentle after everything that happened today, “Make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Steve huffs out a somewhat laugh and tries to give her a decent smile, “I’m fine. I’ll call for you if I need anything.” Robin gives him a smile before heading to the guest room across the hall. 

He feels numb. He doesn’t know if this is better than feeling like his heart is in a constant loop of shattering to millions of pieces—doesn’t want to be so empty. He wants to hold on to that pain because he’s not ready to let Billy go—it doesn’t feel right. 

He makes his way over to his bed when the scratch of his record player catches his attention. He turns his head when music starts to filter into the room. It’s _Take on Me_ by A-ha. Billy always used to make fun of him for being a “generic bitch” and loving this song enough to buy the record. Steve would try to defend himself by saying he only listened to that _one_ song and he didn’t actually _like_ a-ha, which Billy thought was even stupider—but Billy would still smile every time Steve put it on and watch him dance. 

Steve cautiously walks over to the record player. This was _weird_ because a record definitely doesn’t just start playing music by itself. Steve’s breath hitches and his heart pounds in his chest because the record is _playing_ , but the needle isn’t even _on_ _it_. He’s freaking out because _what the fuck._ He pacing back and forth because he _really_ doesn’t want to deal with another supernatural life-threatening incident. 

Steve abruptly stops in his tracks because El used radios to get into the void...to get into the _upside-down_ . He knows she definitely isn’t doing this and who the _fuck_ else would put this song on other than... _Billy._

“ _Shit._ ” Steve feels a sliver of hope stirring in him, “ROBIN!”


	5. Maraschino Cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is wearing a tinfoil hat and Billy is absolutely clueless. Also, a look into Robin and Billy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Has it really almost been a year? Well, we all know life gets in the way and mental health just isn't easy sometimes.
> 
> Fact: I once accidentally blurted out my sexuality before, so i'm going off of that as you'll see in the chapter.
> 
> Reminder that I'm not comfortable writing derogatory language, so those terms for lgbtq+ are bleeped out. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

**Date Unknown**

Billy feels like he and Hopper have gotten a lot closer over the past few days...or was it weeks? ...months maybe? Time doesn’t really make sense here, and Billy doesn’t care to know because he’s worried that knowing just how long they’ve been stuck here will push his limits of sanity over the edge. Sometimes it feels like nights last for days, but more often than not the sky is an endlessly dreary gray that drains Billy’s already low reserve of energy. 

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Hopper, and he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

Hopper has repeatedly told Billy to call him Jim, but it still makes him uncomfortable because he’s spent too many years having Neil  _ literally _ beat “respect and responsibility” into him. 

At least Billy stopped calling him sir...Hopper was surprisingly not okay with that, telling Billy “You’re my equal. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

That seriously had made him feel _really_ _weird,_ and it left him wondering if that’s what a pat on the back from your father would feel like. 

Billy hasn’t really been paying attention to where they’ve been headed until he sees a certain house a few feet away. He stops dead in his tracks. It takes Hopper a few more steps to notice Billy’s not walking with him, so he stops and takes a look back. 

“Hey, you alright?” Hopper asks.

“That’s Steve’s house,” Billy points in its direction, trying to keep himself from having another panic attack because he is _so_ over those. 

“Shit. I didn’t even realize where we were,” Hopper scratches the back of his neck. Jim’s got some weird urge to protect and take care of the kid now since they’ve gotten closer— even had a  _ heart-to-heart.  _ Joyce would be proud of him.

“Wanna turn back?” 

“No, I—,” Billy takes a step forward, then hesitates again, “C-can we go in?” 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

Billy knows Hopper is just worried about him; doesn’t want him to break down again, but Billy wants to prove that he's okay—wants even more to prove to  _ himself _ that he’s still strong. 

“Yeah...I can do it,” Billy stands up a little taller and takes a deep breath, “Let’s go.” 

Billy is thankful that Hopper lets him take the lead this time, letting him set the pace as they walk up the pathway to Steve’s house. He stands in front of the door for a moment—a flicker of doubt if he should really do this—before grabbing the door handle and pushing it open. It looks like Steve’s house—like  _ their  _ house (if he’s being honest)—but the colors are muted and the air is thick with what Billy can only describe as floating cobwebs. Billy really has no idea what it is, and  _ definitely  _ doesn’t want to know. Hopper said everything used to be covered in that  _ thing’s  _ “slimy tentacles,” but now that it was dead every surface was clean...well as clean as it could be. Billy is grateful for that—wouldn’t want to see everything tainted by evil.

The walk through the house is silent; Hopper letting Billy take it all in, a few steps behind him for  _ emotional support _ (Jim  _ knows _ Joyce would be proud of him now). Billy traces his hand over the edge of the couch, the kitchen counter, the one wall he always ended up pushing Steve against—because they were impatient teenagers who rarely made it to the bed. It almost feels the same, but there’s an unfamiliarity to it. There’s no lingering smell of Steve—the comforting mix of hairspray, outrageously expensive cologne, and simply just  _ Steve _ . Billy thinks that maybe being in their bedroom would feel more like home, but he doubts it—thinks he’ll try anyway. 

There’s a nervousness in Billy’s steps as he walks up the stairs, hand gripping the rail to make sure he won’t fall— just in case he ends up freaking out. He makes it into the bedroom, lingering in the middle of the room and  _ trying  _ to make it feel like nothing has changed. It doesn’t work. Billy feels his heart sink because nothing feels right in the house without Steve; it’s just like any other house they’ve been to in this place. 

Billy sees the record player in the corner of his vision, so he makes his way over to it— music has always made him feel better and he wonders if the machine would still work down here. He lets out some sort of weird noise between a laugh and sob because Steve’s stupid A-ha record is still on the turntable. 

Two days before everything had gone to shit, he remembers Steve dancing in their room to it—horribly by the way—doing that goofy fucking head bob that Billy totally does not think is cute. Billy turns it on and blows the dust off the record before placing the needle on the right track, and then he hears “Take on Me” filter through in waves of nostalgia—the happiness, laughter and familiarity of it making him feel a little bit closer to Steve. 

“What is this shit?” Hopper’s voice brings Billy back and he turns around to see a horror on the man’s face. 

“It’s A-ha,” Billy says, confusion in his voice because doesn’t  _ everyone  _ know about A-ha? 

“Yeah, I know what it is, but why the hell did you put it on?” Hopper is grimacing and it makes Billy want to laugh because that was  _ exactly _ his reaction when he found Steve’s record for the first time, “I figured you had better taste than  _ that _ .” 

“No! Fuck, this isn’t  _ mine _ !” Billy is almost insulted that Hopper thinks he likes this shit...but he did just put it on,  _ so… _ “This is totally Steve’s shit. I swear!” 

“Good, I would’ve left you here,” Hopper still has a slightly disgusted look on his face. 

Jim knew Steve was a bit of a prep, but he had higher expectations for him, “So Steve seriously likes this  _ shit _ ?”

“Right? Okay, it’s even worse though! He told me he doesn’t even  _ like _ them and only bought the record for this one song.” 

“ _ Jesus Christ,  _ how the hell do you put up with him?” 

It takes Billy a moment to realize that he was starting to  _ laugh _ , and then Hopper is laughing with him too. It’s been such a  _ long  _ time since he’s laughed and it's so surreal, but also really fucking good; and in this short moment Billy feels alright. 

**August 6, 1985**

“What...the...hell. Steve what did you  _ do _ ?” Robin is staring at the record player with wide eyes because seriously he keeps dragging her into some supernatural situations, and Robin does not want to almost die again. 

“I didn’t do anything! Robin, it’s  _ Billy! _ ” Steve’s eyes are wide and he’s flailing his hands around saying something about  _ static _ , and now Robin is really concerned. 

“Oh...Steve,” she tries to be as gentle as possible because she’s pretty sure Steve is going to start wearing tinfoil on his head, “It can’t be Billy. He’s gone. We have to accept that.” 

“Oh my g— no, Robin, you don’t  _ get it, _ ” Steve’s hands are in his hair now. He has to get her to understand that she isn’t seeing the magnitude of how important this actually is, “ _ El _ uses radios to get into the upside-down! That’s how she was able to talk to Billy when he was still  _ here _ . Maybe Billy isn’t actually gone! Maybe he’s just trapped there and he’s sending us a sign!” 

“Oh…” It takes Robin a moment to grasp what Steve has just said, but then, “ _ Oh! _ Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Steve looks relieved, thankful that Robin finally gets it now.

“Are you  _ sure  _ it’s him though?” 

“It can’t be anyone else but him! Who else would put on  _ that _ song?” 

“ _ You _ ?”  __

“Well  _ yeah _ , but Billy doesn’t actually  _ like _ A-ha and— ugh Robin the needle isn’t even on the record!”

“I mean it is bad, Steve. Why do you even like them?” 

“I  _ don’t _ ! I only like the one— Robin, you’re missing the point! I think Billy is trying to let us know he’s alive and he needs us to help get him out.”

“Your music taste is _so_ _generic_.” 

“ _ Oh my god,  _ you’re just like him— can we  _ please  _ just focus? I’m going to call everyone. Just wait here and let me know if  _ anything _ else happens,” Steve’s already running out of the room and rushing downstairs before she can answer. 

Robin smiles. She really doesn’t want to get her hopes up. She’s worried about Steve because if it turns out he’s wrong about all of this then she thinks that will  _ actually _ break him—but maybe Billy actually  _ is _ alive. If it’s true, then she’s going to do whatever she can to help. 

**April 12, 1985**

Robin really, _really_ can’t wait for summer break to start. It’s not that she hates school, she just has a very immense dislike for almost everything and everyone around her in Hawkins High. Band has become a drag and almost everyone is focused on getting into universities or getting laid; which okay, she’s totally into, but the likelihood of her doing either is incredibly low. 

First of all, she’s not ready to get out of Hawkins—even though she thinks it’s a shit hole. Secondly, she’s pretty sure if she came out in this town, then she’d be burned at the stake for being the only lesbian in Hawkins. It may sound dramatic, but Robin is still pretty terrified of the consequences because it’s not like she’s in some place like  _ California _ or whatever.

If Robin is honest, she’s been pretty miserable the past year. She’s spent the past few months trying to find the courage to tell someone,  _ anyone _ , how she feels—that she just wants to be accepted for who she is. She hasn’t found anyone that she thinks she could trust enough yet. It’s been driving her crazy because this  _ shouldn’t _ even be something that she should be afraid of doing, but it’s not so easy to feel comfortable in such a small town with a very “small town” mentality. Robin’s is  _ this  _ close to just standing up on a lunch table and shouting it out to the whole cafeteria—probably not a smart move though. 

She’s currently trying to find a way to stuff her textbook in her cramped locker—it’s always like a game of Tetris  _ even _ though she always puts everything in the same place. She just really wants to get her textbook shoved in as fast as possible, so she can ditch before anyone sees her. It’s proving to be an impossible task, so she hits the locker with her small fist and groans. Someone comes up beside her and — _ fuck  _ she’s been caught and will need to go back to class. 

“Look, I’m totally not ditching,” Robin is a horrible liar, so she supposes that this isn’t her  _ worst  _ one—definitely not her best though. She turns her head, ready to be lectured by a teacher or the bitchy  _ hall monitor,  _ but is instead faced with Billy Hargrove—and like,  _ gross.  _

“What’s a little band geek like you ditching class for?” Robin thinks the way he lets his voice get lower and slow down is supposed to be “sexy” to all the girls, but she just thinks he sounds like a  _ gross _ idiot. He’s leaning against the locker like he  _ owns  _ the school and Robin thinks he looks like such a tool— she also secretly wishes she could be that confident. 

“I said I _wasn’t_ ditching class,” Robin glares at him, “Can you hear? Or does like, your hair take up all the sound-waves?” Robin thinks his hair is _almost_ as stupid as Steve Harrington’s—but she _definitely_ does not want to think about that bane of her existence. 

Billy just  _ laughs  _ and runs his tongue over his teeth—and  _ gross.  _ Robin really thinks she needs to call the Oxford English Dictionary and tell them to put a picture of Billy Hargrove’s face next to the definition for “gross” because he is  _ gross _ . She definitely needs to think of some more creative adjectives to use on this guy. 

“You know, geek isn’t really my type,” He looks her up and down with a wink and she want’s to punch his stupid face in, “but I’m willing to let you join me for some  _ fun  _ since I just happen to be ditching class too.” 

“Don’t  _ even  _ try macho man, I don’t swing your way,” Robin slaps a hand over her mouth because  _ why _ . Why did she just come out to  _ Billy fucking Hargrove.  _ Of all the people in the entire school, Robin chose to let her pent up frustration and bitterness lead her to confiding in Hawkins  _ worst  _ confidant. 

Billy’s eyes widen in surprise before he smiles, all teeth and the blue of his irises twinkle in delight.

Robin is pretty sure she’s doomed and this meathead jock is going to out her to the entire school,  _ the entire town,  _ but instead he just leans in and whispers, 

“Don’t get all worked up, doll. Your secret's safe with me.” 

“What?” That’s really all Robin can say because did Billy Hargrove just say something...actually nice? Or maybe he’s lying and is about to blackmail her into doing  _ god knows what.  _ Also, did he just call her _doll?_

“You heard me,’ Billy said seriously. His eyes holding such an intense expression that Robin couldn’t quite name, but left her strangely calm. 

She didn’t get a chance to question him before he turned and walked away, a sway in his hips. It made her think that there was something deeper to Billy Hargrove than he let on and Robin wanted to find out what it was. Maybe he wasn’t as horrible as he made himself out to be.

She still thought he was gross though. 

**April 15, 1985**

It was only a few days until Robin had the opportunity to "talk" to Billy again. This time she approached him. 

She was walking out of the mall, covered in dried ice cream and an aching wrist from scooping too much “chunky chocolate fudge”— the  _ hardest  _ ice cream to scoop— for some stupid group of kids that  _ all  _ wanted  _ three fucking scoops each.  _ She’d watched the ravenous kids devour their ice cream with a scowl on her face that deepened once she saw the mess on the tables and floors that she would have to clean up.

Robin had fought with her parents too long to convince them to let her get a job during the school year, but now she’s wishing she didn’t apply at Scoops Ahoy. She looked down at her stupid, chocolate stained dress with a scowl and noticed there were red stains on her white converse.

_ maraschino fucking cherries _

Who ever created _maraschino fucking cherries_ had to be clinically insane because who the _hell_ wants to eat that shit and now it was all over her new shoes—the fact that she was wearing new white shoes to her job in the food industry isn’t relevant. Robin sighs, _goddamn maraschino fucking cherries._

“I swear to god, Billy,” a gruff voice spoke from the shadows, “You will not ruin this family again.”

“I swear I’m not doing anything, sir,”  _ that _ voice was much more familiar. 

Robin turned her head towards the sound. She couldn’t identify the first one, but she immediately recognized the deep tone of Billy Hargroves...something was off though. It wasn’t full of the cocky air and sarcastic quips...he sounded  _ scared _ . 

Robin creeped slowly to the side of the mall that was lowly lit. If she was, like,  _ murdered, _ it’d be her own fault, but—if Robin was honest—she was slightly concerned for Billy—keyword,  _ slightly _ , so her self preservation in that moment flew out the window. She hadn’t been able to shake the look in his eyes and some part of her wished he’d just been a dick during their first and  _ last _ conversation because now she was thinking about the wellbeing of  _ Billy fucking Hargrove. _

It wasn't hard to figure out that the two didn’t want to be seen, but if that was the case, they were both talking way too loud to  _ not _ be heard. I mean, what did they expect Robin to do?  _ Her,  _ the nosiest person in Hawkins—the nosiest person in the  _ world.  _

She peered her head around the corner, relieved that the two didn’t seem to notice her—too wrapped up in their conversation. Billy was pressed up against the concrete wall, a man slightly taller with short cropped hair and a mustache sneering in his face. His hands were fisted in Billy’s shirt. Robin recognized that it was Mr. Hargrove. Hawkins was small and it wasn’t like no one knew each other. She’d have to be living under a rock to  _ not _ know. 

“Who the fuck was that boy you were talking to?” Mr. Hargrove’s hands twisted in Billy’s shirt tighter and Robin had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

“It-It’s just someone in my cl-class,” Billy was trembling, and it had nothing to do with the way his father was shaking him. 

“I swear if you’re going to start acting like a f** again-”

“I’m not!”

“Don’t cut me off,  _ son,”  _ Mr. Hargrove pulled Billy off the wall only to slam him against it again. 

Robin saw his head hit the wall and she winced with him.

“Do I keep having to remind you,” Mr. Hargrove continued, “ _ Respect and Responsibility _ .  _ Do you understand _ ?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Mr. Hargrove released his grip from Billy’s shirt and took a step back, “I don’t want to hear about you acting like a f***** in this town. You will  _ not _ embarrass me again.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy sighed in relief once his father had let him go, but it was short lived as a fist hit him on the side of the face and he fell to the ground.

“You can walk home.”

Robin scrambled away from the corner where she was watching the—if she was being honest—traumatic ordeal, managing to get herself a far enough distance away to not look suspicious. She fumbled through her purse, pretending to look for something,  _ anything, _ and keeping her eyes down in fear of seeing Mr. Hargrove looking at her.

She lifted her eyes up when the sound of Mr. Hargrove’s steps were far enough away, watching him getting into the driver’s seat of the car. In the dark, Robin could still make out that a woman and a young girl were in the car as well. 

She stood still until they drove out of the lot before walking back to the side of the building. Billy was still on the floor, but he at least had pulled himself up into a sitting position. She heard the faint sounds of sniffling, heart tugging at the sight of the boy before her. Robin always knew her parents would never approve of her if they knew the truth, but they  _ definitely  _ would never lay their hands on her. 

“Billy?” She spoke softly, staying a good enough distance away from him. He was still  _ Billy Hargrove  _ after all. 

Billy’s head jerked up at her voice and his eyes went wide, but only for a moment, before hardening.

“What the fuck do you want,” He spat at her, picking himself up off the floor—wet eyes betraying the aggressive body language directed towards her.

“I don’t want anything,” She just looked at him sympathetically and he narrowed his eyes, knowing that she had just witnessed something kept private.

“Didn’t your  _ mommy and daddy _ tell you to stay out of other people’s business? Or do they just not give a shit about their d*** daughter?” 

Robin held back her anger, knowing that lashing back out at Billy wouldn't make either of them feel better. She noticed him shifting on his feet like a cornered animal, ready to sprint as soon as the opportunity presented itself. They both knew he could leave anytime, so what was stopping him?

“Look,  _ dude,  _ I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Robin’s slight frown was all Billy had to see to know he had hurt her. 

“I swear if you—”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Robin cut him off, mimicking the words he had spoken to her a few days ago. 

Billy opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, deciding not to respond. He was obviously done with the conversation, and Robin really didn’t want to stick around because he  _ clearly _ needed some time to himself. She also didn’t really know what more to say, so she just turned around and left. 

Robin heard the click of a lighter and a few beats later a heavy exhale, until she was far enough away to no longer hear Billy—to no longer feel like what just happened hadn’t happened at all. 

**April 21, 1985**

They don’t speak until Friday the next week. Robin is once again trying to figure out the mystery of her Tetris locker, trying to slide her biology book in between her American history and English book. The bell already rang and the hallway was empty, but she hadn't given up— even though she's running out of expletives to mutter angrily under her breath. 

She doesn’t  _ quite _ need to wipe the metaphorical sweat of her brow, but the task isn’t easy. Robin wants to put it on the record that she  _ isn’t  _ being overdramatic. 

“Hey.”

Robin turns, immediately recognizing the voice even though it’s softer than usual.  _ Why _ she can identify the tones of Billy’s now voice without even needing to look at him is not something she wants to muse over. She finds him leaning up against the lockers again.

“Wanna ditch with me?” Billy has his arms crossed like he doesn’t give a _shit_ about _anything_ , but Robin can see there’s a nervousness in his eyes now— that maybe he’s just as terrified that she knows his secret too. Robin once again thinks that _maybe_ Billy Hargrove might not be as horrible as she thought—still gross though because did this guy even know how to _button up a shirt_? 

“Alright, hairspray, I’ll ditch with you.” He rolls his eyes at the nickname, grabs her textbook and shoves it in her locker, slamming it shut before striding down the hallway—she scrambles to keep up. 

——————————————

“So, why’d you even hit on me?” Robin asks, while they sit on top of Billy’s Camaro in the quarry. They’d skipped school on Friday, sipping on a warm beer from his truck and smoking cigarettes because  _ why not _ —Robin counts this day as a fucking win. 

“You know—” Billy takes a long drag, “Gotta keep up appearances and shit.” 

"No one else was even in the hallway," She points out.

"You never know who might be watching," He shrugs.

“Yeah, but like,  _ look at you _ ,” Robin gestures at his muscles in his  _ too tight  _ shirt, “Like, no one could beat you up anyways even if they knew.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Billy’s tone gets an edge to it, and Robin doesn’t push because they’ve both already exposed a big part of their lives— two secrets on Billy’s part. 

Besides, she doubts _ Billy Hargrove  _ would want to hang out with her again, even if they share this secret together. He’s just  _ too cool,  _ and she’s—well, she’s just Robin. 

It turns out, her and Billy end up hanging out a lot more after that. She really enjoys his company, and he’s actually a pretty decent guy once she got to know him. Sure, he’s got his anger issues, and sometimes he just wants to sit in silence and  _ brood _ , but other times they laugh and talk. 

Robin’s never been able to talk about who she likes before with anyone other than in the privacy of her own head. She tells Billy about Tammy Thompson and how much she hates Steve Harrington because she wished she would find someone who’d look at her the way all the girls looked at Steve— like  _ Tammy Thompson _ looks at Steve. 

Billy tells her he likes someone too and that they’ve been seeing each other for a while, but he won’t tell her who it is yet. He admits that he doesn’t know what to do—too afraid of the consequences, but Robin gets in his face and tells him to “stop being a self-deprecating asshole and go for it” because at least one of them should be happy in this shitty town. 

Robin isn’t sure whether she’s glad she gave Billy that advice because she ends up seeing less and less of him after that. All Robin knows is that he better be a decent guy and not some prick like, if she’s generalizing, someone like Steve Harrington. 


End file.
